


You Make the Seedbed You Lie In

by Anonymous



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: A3! Kink Meme, A3! NSFW Week, Aphrodisiacs, Dehumanization, Human Experimentation, Mad Science, Other, Oviposition, Tentacle Sex, Urethral Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26983330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Wolf is held captive in Dom's laboratory and contributes to the creation of a wonderful, green new world.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60
Collections: Anonymous Fics, Ass! Addict! Actors! an A3! NSFW Week 2020





	You Make the Seedbed You Lie In

**Author's Note:**

> A long overdue fill for the A3! Kink Meme that doubles as a late entry for A3! NSFW Day 5: Aphrodisiac. Set in the world of the second Autumn Troupe Play: Stranger. Please heed the warnings and I mean all of them. 
> 
> There's a difference between writing porn and writing hentai, and let me wholecockedly assure you, this is the trashiest, filthiest form of the latter.

Wolf wakes to the smell of antiseptic in the air, and the chalky weight of his tongue, heavy and bloated in his cottony dry mouth. His head throbs even before he opens his eyes and when he finally does, the cold fluorescent light does nothing to help. Wolf blinks repeatedly as a scene of sanitized white tiles and stainless steel lab benches materializes before him. 

Wolf thrashes into motion at the realization, but the action has long been a futile one; judging by the tingly lack of circulation in his extremities, the manacles clasped around his wrists and ankles have been there for some time, likely attached while he was still unconscious. Wolf finds himself bound to a metal rack with one limb fastened in each corner, forced into a spread eagle position like an animal hide stretched for tanning. His clothes, his weapon, everything is gone, leaving him vulnerable and naked without even a scrap of fabric to defend himself from the room’s clinical chill. 

Wolf tries to turn his head to see what holds the rack in place, but the only thing that could resemble clothing still left on him is the stiff collar locked around his neck limits its range of motion. All he manages to get is that his back is faced against a wall, and the rack is sturdy enough to withstand however much he struggles. 

This isn’t like any torture or interrogation setup that Wolf’s ever heard of, but whoever trussed him up like this clearly doesn’t want him moving around much, or at all. Before he has time to mull over this, an automatic door on the far side of the room slides open with a faint hiss, followed by the firm footsteps of the man coming in through it. 

A scientist, judging by the glasses, white coat, and clipboard in his hand. He looks fairly young, and strikingly clean- a rare sight in this dusty wasteland they inhabit. His light brown hair looks regularly washed and combed, his lab coat spotless, his skin smooth and unblemished by wrinkle or scar. If Wolf didn’t know any better, he’d think that the man had come from a completely other world. But most importantly, the bright crest on his sleeve is the same one that Wolf has spotted on the tattered remains of the girl’s dress. 

So this must have to do with her after all, Wolf thinks with an internal grimace. It makes sense, all of his own enemies would have just shot him in the marketplace rather than go to the trouble of dragging him all the way here. Wherever “here” is. The girl hadn't been able to offer him much information on herself or where she’d come from. She didn’t even have a name for him to call her by, and had just started calling herself Zero, after the last digit of a code tattooed on the back of her neck. She didn’t seem to remember much aside from the fact that she had seeds planted inside her body, but Wolf hadn’t been hired to ask questions about her past. The plan had been to simply escort the girl out of the wastes and into the nearest city, where she could pawn out her seeds, her labor, or even her body to the types of buyers who might be interested, in exchange for enough money to pay Wolf for his service and survive on her own. 

Wolf has seen enough scientific atrocity in his time to know that the girl is likely a lab-made experiment, whether she recognizes it or not. Mutants and test subjects that make it out of their facilities rarely last long, though he’d never mentioned that to her. It could have been out of his own twisted sense of kindness, or simply his disdain for those that dare yearn for death when others struggle to survive in this unforgiving world. But regardless of whether it was a shadow of kindness or not, he hadn’t been expecting to put himself on the line for the girl, not like this. 

The scientist places his clipboard on the surface of one of the many lab benches, and crosses the room in a few easy strides, stopping only barely a step away. His clear blue eyes are bright with curiosity as he reaches up to take Wolf’s chin in his smooth, clean hand, inspecting him in a way that’s simultaneously very intimate and chillingly removed. 

“So this is what he brought back instead of SB520,” he murmurs to himself, as if Wolf isn’t here at all. His voice is low and syrupy, eyes sharp with intent as they carve a line up Wolf’s exposed body. As his gaze stops for several moments on Wolf’s lower body, what he’s looking at is made all too clear by the cool amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Quite a large specimen.” It’s an acknowledgement that Wolf would rather go without. 

The scientist makes eye contact with Wolf. His detached, observational gaze makes it clear that he doesn’t expect a response, if he even thinks of Wolf as sentient enough to provide one. “I suppose you wouldn’t be so helpful as to just  _ tell _ us where she is, would you?” He asks, the way one talks to a lagging computer screen.

When Wolf had first been attacked by a lab cyborg chasing the girl, he had assumed that her creators had wanted to dispose of her properly while eliminating any witnesses along the way. But judging by the scientist’s apparent eagerness to bring her back, it seems that she’s  _ not  _ just some discarded defect abandoned once she’d outlived her control group, like so many others that Wolf has put out of their misery before. She must have escaped on her own and now the lab is trying to recapture her, which means that she must still be of value to them. And if that means the seeds planted in her chest might actually be the real deal, then-

Wolf clamps his mouth shut. If those seeds are real, even a jaded bastard like him can tell how important this girl could be for this barren, war-torn planet. Not that he’s got any notions of “saving the world”, but any chance for regrowth and revival is better left out among the masses who need it most rather than locked up in a lab, only to be doled out for the rich and powerful. Besides, if the girl’s got any brains, she’s probably caught onto the fact that Wolf isn’t coming back from the market anytime soon and long left the shanty house they’d been staying in for the interim. Technically, she could be anywhere by now. 

The scientist sees the silent resolve in Wolf’s face and gives a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose over the top of his glasses. “I thought not. Oh well. John will catch up to her eventually I’m sure, but the shareholders’ meeting is this week and we have to have  _ something _ to show them, especially if I want to apply for another grant…” He trails off murmuring to himself again, as if he’s forgotten once again that Wolf is capable of speech and comprehension. Maybe it’s better to be forgotten, Wolf thinks. If the scientist goes off into his own little world to prepare for the shareholders or whatever he needs to do, then it’ll hopefully leave Wolf with enough time to figure out a way to escape. 

Unfortunately, if Wolf has learned anything in this bitch of a world, it’s that he should never be so lucky. The scientist’s surgical gaze snaps back to him, this time pointed away from his face and fixed on Wolf’s abdomen instead. “Well, it didn’t work for 489, but perhaps they will take in a more sturdy specimen. In any case, it’s worth a try to buy some time.” Wolf has no clue what any of that means, but it certainly does not inspire warm, fuzzy feelings. 

The scientist places a hand on Wolf’s lower belly in a manner that is far too familiar and close to his intimate parts for comfort. Wolf can feel his muscles tensing under the man’s touch, shivers running through him that have nothing to do with arousal. But the scientist doesn’t scratch or pinch or hit, simply strokes his palm across the planes of Wolf’s abdominals, occasionally grazing the trail of hair that leads down between his legs. “We’re going to be borrowing this,” he says, still not addressing Wolf directly. His tone is perfectly soft and polite, as if he had any intention of returning what he borrows. “It’s not supposed to hurt, so you should be fine.”

Wolf’s stomach churns with bleak apprehension as the scientist moves away to fiddle with a panel of number pads and buttons on the wall of the room. Wolf isn’t ashamed to admit that he’s afraid- he knows that there’s plenty enough to be afraid of out in the world- but that feeling only grows, even though his restraints rattle and creak under the strain of his renewed struggle. The scientist doesn’t so much as turn to look, so utterly confident that the rack and cuffs will hold. This does not bode well, Wolf thinks, feeling bruises form on his wrists where his flesh has been battered against cold, unforgiving steel. It’s impossible not to imagine the scores of terrible possibilities that could await him: torture, dissection, or even brainwashing, just to name a few. 

The scientist punches in some pass code that draws an affirmative beeping sound from the wall panel, and a hatch opens up, ejecting a sealed container with a slow, mechanical hiss. The scientist takes the container -a sealed, rectangular tank made of tinted glass that Wolf can’t see into- and raises it to inspect the label before grinning in self-satisfaction. “Here we go, little guy.” Wolf does not like how he talks to the thing as if it’s sentient, and if it actually  _ is  _ something sentient, then he likes it even less. The man’s voice is suddenly soft with fondness, a sickening contrast to how he’d talked at Wolf before. “Let’s go for another test run, shall we?” 

The scientist sets the box down in front of Wolf’s feet and takes a few paces back, before pressing another button on the wall. The hard collar around his neck keeps Wolf from being able to look down at it, but he hears the tank unsealing with a burst of air, and the sound of something moist and moving. 

It starts with a weak prodding against the sole of his foot, too tentative and brief for him to tell whether it’s from something wet or dry, soft or hard. This is followed by a slithering sensation along his instep that inquisitively dips between its toes before coiling around his heel. Wolf can feel it now, a long tubelike protrusion meandering its way up his leg. Its surface has a leathery toughness that doesn’t feel entirely inorganic, like the skin of some cacti and succulents, but it leaves behind a trail of aloe-like goo that seeps into his skin with a faint cooling sensation. It has a thin, tapered tip that feels no thicker than a finger, but as it spirals its way up Wolf’s calve, he can feel it growing thicker and plumper the further down it goes. Dread pools in the pit of his stomach, like stagnant sewer water. This thing has to be sentient, he thinks- it’s too erratic not to be, with the way that it meanders across his skin, tickling the back of his knee and squirming along the knob of his ankle. Nothing about it feels programmed or remote controlled, and it doesn’t seem purposeful enough to be a specialty AI. If it’s an animal, then it’s not one that Wolf’s ever seen or heard of before, which isn’t a good sign. Wolf’s heard of some pretty fearsome things, but what’s even more terrifying is simply  _ not knowing _ . 

Then Wolf feels another, lapping at his other foot. And another, wriggling up towards his thighs, and another- until there’s at least five or six of the protrusions, coiled around and creeping around his legs, excreting more and more of that chilling gel that numbs the skin of Wolf’s lower body. Panic swells tight in his chest as he struggles against their grip, but it does little good- the cuffs around his ankles were tight to begin with, and the firm hold of the protrusions spiralling up his thighs render his lower body almost entirely immobile. His legs start to feel weak, tingling with paralysis as if half of his entire body had gone to sleep, and if not for the protrusions wrapped around him, he doubts he’d still be upright. Whatever this thing plans to do to him, it’s bad enough that it needs to take away his ability to fight back.

Then comes the heat. Whatever cooling sensation Wolf had felt moments earlier is entirely stripped away as the tingling morphs into a pervasive warmth, one that seeps into his bones and thrums against every pore. His skin grows slick with slime and sweat, sliding and shifting against the smooth surface of the protrusions in a way that feels almost pleasurable, despite his mounting horror. That pleasure coils in his gut, like a spark on a bed of coals, and it’s only moments before his entire body lights up with it, every nerve suddenly ignited with hot, burning arousal no matter how much his mind fights against it. 

Tendrils snake all across his body, curling against his belly and dipping beneath his hip bones, and their purpose- as well as the gel’s effects- become all the more obvious. Wolf grunts as a finger-thin tip traces down his spine in a teasing facsimile of human touch. It slips between his cheeks, almost carelessly, and he immediately clenches, more out of instinct than will. Everything feels slow and hazy with heat. Wolf can feel disgust and repulsion banging on the insides of his skull, his unwilling heart hammering in his chest. But with every languid, sticky stroke of the protrusion against his taint, those feelings feel further and further away, as if echoing through a thick curtain of water.

Wolf’s come across enough stimulants and tranquilizers and dodgy anaesthetics out in the world to know that there’s only so much- meaning very little- that sheer willpower can do to hold out against chemical reaction. It doesn’t mean he hates himself and his traitor body any less when instead of bile in his throat, he feels another sort of rising from between his legs. The protrusions- fuck it, he’ll call them what they are, fucking  _ tentacles _ \- seize upon this immediately, a dozen small ones curling around his cock like a many-fingered hand, stroking him closer and closer to full hardness. By this point, there’s too many for Wolf to keep track of, especially with the collar around his neck robbing him of the ability to look down and actually see what the tentacles are doing to him. It feels like they’re everywhere- wrapped around his growing erection, brushing along his sides, crawling up his torso until they’re tweaking at his nipples.

As fucked up as it is, it would give Wolf a small measure of comfort if the scientists were getting off on this as well. Then at least he’d be able to make sense of why this is happening to him, why he’s being subjected to this bizarre and terrible humiliation and made to  _ like it _ . The rational part of Wolf’s brain that is getting rapidly drowned out with forced pleasure thinks that he’d much rather be beaten, be dissected, have his blood drawn, anything. Even knowing that he’s being put through this because of some mad scientist’s fetish would give him something to feel defiant against, as to not give him that sick pleasure. 

But that simply isn’t the case. Forced to look straight ahead, Wolf can see the scientist clearly, even through the haze of drugs clouding his brain. The man’s expression is curious, but otherwise impassive as he occasionally jots down notes on a clipboard. No signs of hidden pleasure, no sadistic glee, nothing. Once, and only once, does he reach down to neatly adjust the way his slight erection sits in his pants, as dispassionately as if he were wiping his nose. Otherwise, there is no sign of any arousal or non-scientific interest whatsoever. The scientist’s gaze on Wolf’s violation is clean and impersonal, as if Wolf were nothing more than a particularly promising petri dish. It’s clear that he doesn’t see the victim of his experiment as a human at all. 

The noises of slick, gooey movement and heavy, arrhythmic breathing bounce off the sterile walls of the lab room, and it takes Wolf a good while to realize that those sounds are coming from him. Pleasured grunts and heated sighs leak from his lips without him even realizing, and Wolf just barely registers a trickle of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. Just minutes ago, his mouth had been so dry it had almost hurt to breathe. Now it’s watering uncontrollably, as if he wants to be violated like he is. As if he’s starving for it. Of course, this doesn’t go unnoticed by the tentacles- nothing does, as far as their victim is concerned. Sticky tendrils ooze their way up the side of his face, poking their tips into his mouth to prod at his gums and excrete more slime onto his tongue. It’s sweet, Wolf realizes, unable to keep himself from swallowing. Sweet like syrup, what a joke. 

If absorbing the experiment’s secretions through his skin was already this bad, then ingesting them orally is sure to be far, far worse. Choking even as he half-heartedly struggles against the invasion of his mouth, he heightened dose of chemicals hits Wolf immediately. A rush of heat swirls in his belly as his cock twitches to full hardness, if it hadn’t already been before. Ragged moans tear themselves from his throat but are muffled by the curious tentacles stuffing his mouth. He feels himself burning up wherever the protrusions are constricted around him, every inch of him feverish for contact and stimulation and more of the sickly sweet chemicals excreted by his tormentor. And as a few of the thicker tentacles keeping him captive slither slowly along his thighs, Wolf feels a surprisingly gentle prod right at the spot that he fears and wants it most: the rim of his ass, which flutters and clenches, conflicted between disgust and desire as the foreign protrusion strokes soft and seductive against the ring of muscle. 

Wolf feels the aphrodisiacs clouding his mind; he can’t think, only feel the churning of his stomach as the tentacle undulates against his hole, movements like an enthusiastic, lapping tongue as it smears more gel across it, preparing it for entry. Wolf knows what this means of course: he’s going to get fucked, by this strange, inhuman lab creature, violated most intimately and grotesquely in full view of his uncaring captor. The thought sends shudders down his spine, goosebumps of prickling across his skin. This doesn’t turn him on, it shouldn’t turn him on. And yet his cock jerks involuntarily, slick precum beading at its tip. His guts twist at the thought of being pounded by the strong, pulsing tentacles that hold him immobile. Even without steel restraints or the creature itself trapping him here, his knees would be too weak to run, the burning want coursing through him far too strong to fight back. The chemicals have done their dirty work, and Wolf is thankful at least for the manacles that spare him the shame of spreading his legs himself.

Wolf's hole is pliant and welcoming as the first, thin protrusion slips into the ring of muscle. Wolf barely feels it, already so slick and drugged up that the only discomfort comes from it being not enough. He wants to be stretched wide so it hurts, to feel the impact of thrusting hitting against his guts. But all that the creature gives him is the uncoordinated wriggling of a few slim tendrils, stroking against his walls in a way that should feel more clinical than sexual but still has Wolf clenching down around them for more.

The tendrils inside press against his sensitive flesh as if searching for something, curious and deliberate. Every once in a while, one of them brushes against his prostate and Wolf thrashes less from the actual amount of pleasure given, and more out of excitement for finally getting some internal stimulation. The tentacles around him have stilled, no longer slithering around him with pleasant tightness or prodding inside its mouth. It's as if the entire creature is waiting with bated breath, and though his focus remains cloudy, he can sense that the scientist is watching as well. There's something going on that Wolf isn't privy to, and he's hardly got the mental facilities to figure it out now, but he's certain that he'll find out soon enough, whether he wants to or not.

The thin, tapered intrusions crawl deeper and deeper, twisting together to form a single mass as they burrow further into Wolf's guts than he'd thought possible. It had felt like nothing at first, but the tentacles grow ever thicker closer to the base, and they just. Keep. Going. What had started as not enough is starting to tip into the territory of overstimulation. It's not quite the in and out thrusting motion that Wolf associates with sex, but the tendrils keep stretching his sphincter, pushing past his rectum- they must be halfway into his colon by now with no signs of mercy or reprieve. Wolf hears himself groaning in half-pain half-arousal when he feels the telltale squirm of the probing tentacles deep inside his belly. It's no use, even if the thing could understand him, there's no way it would listen. He might as well beg a machine for mercy, or even appeal to the scientist, for all the good that would do.

Then the tendrils retreat, a slick slithering sensation felt through his gut as they retreat back the way they’d come from. Wolf full-body shudders at the loss as the last of them slides from his stretched rim, flicking against it on its way out. There’s a brief lull in action as the tentacles around him pulse in place, as if mirroring the rhythm of Wolf’s heartbeat is pounding in his ears. It’s not over, it’s far too soon for it to all be over. Wolf knows that the only reason why the scientist would want to stop before breaking him is if there’s something worse in store for later. He hates the part of himself that doesn’t  _ want _ it to stop, that clenches futilely around nothing in longing for the girth that filled him just moments ago. 

That traitorous, drug-addled part of him gets its wish soon, when Wolf feels something brush against the back of his knee. Apparently, the tentacles had not stilled- he simply hadn’t been able to see their movement, but he can certainly feel it now. Thick and bulbous and heavy as it creeps slowly upwards, nearly burning a trail of sticky warmth up the back of Wolf’s leg. Wolf groans unbiddenly, knowing full well where its aim is and being completely powerless to stop it. A glob of leftover slime trickles out of his already-loosened hole, as if in anticipation. It’s almost immediately scooped back up by the large, threatening protrusion now lined up right against Wolf’s ass.

This tentacle is different from the others. Immediately, Wolf knows that this is going to rip him apart. This huge, bulbous, constantly leaking head is going to thrust as deep into his guts as the thin tendrils had, and wreck him beyond fixing ever again.  _ It’ll feel so good _ , his mind whispers to him, drowning out the remaining corners of his mind that are still awake enough to scream.  _ You’ll never feel so good in your life ever again. _

Wolf’s last coherent thought, as his panicked heartbeat pumps more and more of the creature’s aphrodisiac through his system, is to wonder about the girl. If this is what the scientist would have done if he had caught her. What he still might do if he finds her. What he might have already done to her, time and time again before she escaped. And Wolf, what precious scraps of him remain, is not the self-sacrificial type nor is he the suicidal type. He wants nothing more than to survive, and feels nothing but resentment and disdain for those who don’t. But in this moment he thinks, better for him to be ruined now than to live with the knowledge that the girl suffered through this, and that she might do so again. It would be better for him to break than to witness that, should it ever happen.

_ No no no no nonononononon-YES! _

The tentacle pushes inside Wolf in one powerful stroke. And suddenly, Wolf’s mind is no longer screaming. 

Instead, the screaming is coming from his mouth.

The tentacle drives straight into Wolf’s body, pushing past every biological boundary without regard for his pain or pleasure. Wolf can feel his insides heave as the massive protrusion drags backwards before pistoning in even deeper, knocking the breath out of his lungs and all thought from his mind. The tentacle fucks him with little thought to aim or deli cacy, but its sheer girth ensures that it brushes against his prostate so that Wolf’s long-waiting cock drips precum with every thrust. It feels like a fist, like a punch, forceful and violent, dragging Wolf kicking and screaming over the edge of orgasm until he cums onto his stomach with a ragged shout. 

Only one orgasm, dripping grossly down his abs, and Wolf already feels spent, as if the monstrous appendage inside him has gutted him empty of all thought and fear and pleasure. But it doesn’t matter. This is hardly enough to make the tentacle stop. Without giving him even a moment’s respite, it continues pounding into him through his orgasm, the thinner tentacles wrapped around it jerking several more pathetic, futile discharges from Wolf’s abused cock. Such rough, uncaring friction on his sensitive member overstimulates him almost to the point of pain, but his own dick refuses to listen.

Caught between the monster rearranging his insides and the smaller tendrils milking him dry, Wolf can’t tell how long this torment continues for. He alternates between squeezing his eyes shut and letting them fly open in shock whenever the tentacle thrusts particularly hard into his guts, or a smaller tendril wriggles against his urethra. He can’t remember how many times he’s cum, nor can he see the dripping mess he’s truly made of himself. Whatever’s fucking him must be having a good time, because he can feel its appendages writhing and pulsing all over. They muffle his moans as they slide in and out of his mouth, slip up the cleft of his ass, pinch and twist at Wolf’s defenseless nipples. Everywhere they touch feels aflame with lust, as if every nerve ending in his body leads back to his dick. They’re all over him and everywhere at once, yet Wolf can scarcely focus on any single point of contact aside from the tentacle that’s splitting him in half, the filthy squelching sounds of slime and cum as the thing pistons in him, and how overwhelmingly  _ good _ it feels to be used and abused. 

At one point, he notices that the restraints have been released and that he’s no longer cuffed. It doesn’t make a difference- Wolf is already too tightly bound and too fucked out to even struggle if he wanted to. With his knees barely able to hold him up, his weight is almost entirely supported by the protrusions wrapped around him, as well as the monstrous girth that’s propping him up from the inside. At this point, there’s scarcely an inch of him that the creature’s tendrils hasn’t bound, scarcely a hole that it hasn’t claimed- from his ass to his mouth to the slim, squirming tip pushing its way down his urethra, turning even his cock into yet another fucksleeve for the creature to defile. His prostate is being assaulted from both sides, and the urge to come is unbearable, his balls drawing tight with the urge to orgasm, but unable to do so with the path of release blocked by the tentacles. 

Wolf lets out another ragged moan as the tentacle pulses inside him, stretching his aching inner walls. Not only is it the deepest in that anything’s ever been inside him, it’s also the greatest in girth. It keeps leaking its aphrodisiac slime into him, keeping him doped up as well as slick and lubricated the entire time. For once, Wolf’s subdued rational mind and the horny haze that’s taken over are in agreement: let it end, let him cum. Whatever torture or tease is going on, he deserves his relief, first in orgasm and then in sweet, fucked out unconsciousness. He doesn’t want to feel his guts being rearranged, his prostate being milked dry, this unbearable insatiable want frying all coherent thought and survival instinct inside of him. 

But of course, the creature has other plans for him, if it’s capable of forming plans at all, rather than being driven by pure instinct. The tentacle slows and pulls out slightly, drawing a groan of either relief or disappointment out of Wolf- he can scarcely tell anymore. Then, he feels something hard pressing against his rim. Not firm like the muscley appendage of the tentacle, or cold like a metal instrument. Something warm and solid, passing through the inside of the tentacle like an egg or a-

“Oh, a seed?” The scientist's voice sounds distant and blurry, the meaning of the words sliding off the surface of Wolf’s fucked-out brain as soon as he hears them. “You must be quite fond of this specimen then. Let’s hope he makes a suitable incubator.”

The hard-shelled seed bursts right through Wolf’s rim with a pop, and he can immediately feel the heavy mass of it resting inside him, pushing against his prostate. Pleasure sears through his worn-out body, and Wolf can feel drool trickling down the side of his jaw as he moans, throaty and shameless. Then the seed is knocked away from his sweet spot by another, and another, and  _ another _ , each of them perfectly round and larger than a fist, pumping through his now-gaping hole, in rhythmic, powerful spurts. Each new seed pushes the entire cluster of them deeper and deeper into his guts, rubbing his prostate raw with every movement. Wolf can feel the skin of his belly pulled tight and taut across the entire nursery of seeds inside him, but whatever discomfort there may be is burned away by another dry orgasm that hits him so hard his toes curl. 

It’s so  _ tight  _ so  _ hard it’s so much and they’re all inside him and it feels so good and  _ maybe this is what awaits him from now on, that’s all he’ll ever be again, whoever Wolf is and ever was will be wiped away by this sloppy dripping whore who spreads his legs for a monster’s seed and lives to be planted in. Maybe that’s a  _ good _ ending for him, in fact. Wolf can’t remember the last time he felt this free of worry and anger and bitterness and pain. He can’t remember anything. All that’s left is the joy and satisfaction of being fulfilled and  _ filled _ by this creature and its tentacle-cock. 

Finally, the creature relents, squeezing one last seed before slithering out through the beaten rim of Wolf’s battered hole. That final seed sags against him from the inside, as if threatening to plop out, but Wolf summons the last dregs of his strength to clench around it, drawing it up safely into his bowels. That’s  _ his _ seed, and he’s not letting go of a single one. 

Wolf feels the protrusions withdraw, uncurling from his limbs and slithering out of his dick, as he’s laid down on his back. It feels lonely without them, was it always like this without their warm, constricting embrace? At least he still has the company of the seeds, their pleasant weight shifting inside him as he lays down, sending mild sparks of pleasure through him. Wolf no longer has the strength to move, to make noise, to think about anything else aside from the life now planted inside him. He feels a smooth hand, not a tentacle, resting on his belly, lightly and tenderly. 

“Well done,” the scientist says to Wolf’s seeds. “In a week you’ll germinate and we’ll extract you from your incubator for further observation. Then we can reuse this seedbed the same way again and again and again. What a wonderful green world we’re going to make.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the 3 tentacle experts I consulted regarding this fic, I will not name you for sneaky anon kink memeing reasons, but know that my appreciation for you is as long and deep as the tentacles in Wolf.


End file.
